Miss Marcia Crane shook her head. “I know what is best for me, Leslie dear. You don’t always understand. But I believe this place is doing me a great deal of good. I confess, I thought Dr. Crawford insane when he suggested it, and I came here with the greatest reluctance. For a nervous invalid like myself to go and hide away in such a forsaken spot as this is in October, just you and I, seemed to me the wildest piece of folly. But I must say it appears to be working out all right, and I am certainly feeling better already.”
“But why shouldn’t it have been all right?” argued Leslie. “I was always sure it would be. The doctor said this beach was noted for its wonderfully restful effect, especially after the summer crowds had left it, and that it was far better than a sanatorium. And as for your being alone with me—why I’m sixteen and a quite competent housekeeper, as Mother says. And you don’t need a trained nurse, so I can do most everything for you.”
“But your school—” objected Miss Crane. “It was lovely of your mother to allow you to come with me, for I don’t know another person who would have been so congenial or helpful. But I worry constantly over the time you are losing from high school.”
“Well, don’t you worry another bit!” laughed Leslie. “I told you that my chum Elsie is sending me down all our notes, and I study an hour or two every morning, and I’ll probably go right on with my classes when I go back. Besides, it’s the greatest lark in the world for me to be here at the ocean at this unusual time of the year. I never in all my life had an experience like it.”
“And then, I didn’t think at first that it could possibly be safe!” went on her aunt. “We seem quite unprotected here—we’re miles from a railroad station, and not another inhabited house around. What would happen if—”
Again Leslie laughed. “We’ve a telephone in the bungalow and can call up the village doctor or the constable, in case of need. The doctor said there weren’t any tramps or unwelcome characters about, and I’ve certainly never seen any in the two weeks we’ve been here. And, last but not least, there’s always Rags!—You know how extremely unpleasant he’d make it for any one who tried to harm us. No, Aunt Marcia, you haven’t a ghost of an excuse for not feeling perfectly safe. But now I’m going in to start supper. You stay here and enjoy the view.”
But her aunt shivered and rose when Leslie did. “No, I prefer to sit by the open fire. I started it a while ago. And I’m glad you brought some more wood. It was getting low.”
As they went in together, the girl glanced up at the faded and weather-beaten sign over the door. “Isn’t it the most appropriate name for this place!—‘Rest Haven.’ It is surely a haven of rest to us. But I think I like the name of that closed cottage next door even better.”
“What is it?” asked her aunt, idly. “I’ve never even had the curiosity to look.”
“Then you must come and see for yourself!” laughed Leslie, turning her aunt about and gently forcing her across the veranda. They ploughed their way across a twenty-foot stretch of sand and stepped on the veranda of the cottage next door. It was a bungalow somewhat similar to their own, but plainly closed up for the winter. The windows had their board shutters adjusted, the door was padlocked, and a small heap of sand had drifted in on the veranda.